When, in July 1978, some two months after the start of the general renovation work on the Sanctuary, the Rome-based Central Commission for Sacred Art came to Canneto to inspect the old complex with a view to authorising its demolition, in agreement with the other bodies responsible for environmental protection, a high-ranking prelate said to me as he left the church: “There is nothing there. You might as well have demolished the façade too.” He obviously meant that there was “nothing of artistic value” in the church that was worth preserving.
However, one Sunday in October of that same year, when the old sanctuary had already been largely demolished, a devout woman from Civitella Alfedena, whilst welcoming the great project that was taking shape, said these words with tears in her eyes: “And yet those old walls were so dear to us!”.
Two contrasting yet equally true perspectives: one stemmed from the mind of the expert, who focused exclusively on the style, aesthetics and structural integrity of the sacred building, remaining entirely detached from the spiritual experiences that had taken place there. The other sprang from the heart, that is, from the sum of the memories and feelings of a soul which, in that very church, had enjoyed special moments of communion with God and with the Blessed Virgin.
“There was nothing artistic about it.” In fact, the church in Canneto was a jumble of structures, added one after the other, side by side, according to the needs of the times, without a unified and coherent plan, with a few essential spaces in between that were unusable or could not be attributed to a specific liturgical function, and, to top it all, with crumbling perimeter walls and no foundations, as was revealed by the demolition itself.
There were, in fact, no significant architectural features inside, such as arches, capitals, friezes or stucco work, let alone any frescoes or paintings worth preserving. The Renaissance-style façade itself, which has since remained, dates from the second decade of the last century (1923–27). The only ancient part is the narthex or pronaos, which has been preserved. In fact, its stone cross vaults date from the 16th century.
But the old sanctuary was demolished, not because “there was nothing of artistic merit”, but for its very survival, as, over time, it proved increasingly inadequate to meet the accommodation and hospitality needs—even the most basic ones—of a pilgrimage that was constantly growing, especially after the arrival of the carriage road to Canneto (1960), and there was an ever more pressing need to replace it with a larger, more integrated, more functional and structurally safer complex (church and guesthouse).
Had the church and its outbuildings remained largely as they were, managing to harmonise new and old structures (though the various solutions designed to achieve this, which had been painstakingly considered and debated at length, proved unfeasible), apart from the fact that it would have had to contend with the terrible earthquake of May ’84, which had its epicentre right in the Meta massif, any future development would have been precluded forever. But I shall return to this point later in the discussion.
“And yet those old walls were so dear to us!” This, too, was equally true, not only for the devout woman from Civitella Alfedena, but also for many other pilgrims who had been attached to the Sanctuary since childhood. It was the voice of the heart and of memory, of the spiritual joys experienced in the old church and of gratitude to the Blessed Virgin for the many graces received here through her maternal intercession; and so every corner, indeed every stone, of the ancient building had its own language, its own charm.
It is precisely out of deference to and respect for these noble and delicate sentiments of the people, and these strong connections to the past, that the façade—with the ancient narthex beneath it—has been preserved.
And to ensure that we never forget not only “those old walls so dear to us”, but also the people who built, extended and preserved them over the centuries with love and dedication, and the sacrifices made by everyone: rectors, administrators, hermits, the faithful and, for much of the last century, albeit gradually and with increasing difficulty, even the diocesan bishops, the idea arose in me for this historical “excursus” focused solely on the history of the church of Canneto as a sacred building.
Taken from the book by Monsignor Dionigi Antonelli - La chiesa di S. Maria di Canneto: dalle antiche costruzioni all'attuale ristrutturazione generale